Blind Spot
by AllThatPurpleProse
Summary: *Rewrite of 'The Voiceless'* The fairy tale creatures that once hid in the shadows are storming into the light with howls on their lips and blood on their tongues. Emma Moore has been lied to her entire life and now the truth is finally being exposed. The only question now is: is she willing to accept her new reality, or will she stay in the dark?
1. Prologue

**_Blind Spot_**

 ** _Prologue_**

" _All endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time." – Mitch Albom_

* * *

October, 2002

"Come away from the road!" A tall, broad shouldered man shouted over the pouring rain and faint thunder beginning to rumble in the distance.

The man huddled further into his moss green raincoat, his skin beginning to sting from the cold.

A little girl danced ahead of him. Her bright yellow coat and matching boots stood out against the earthy tones of the forest beside her. The girl's laugh filtered through the air with ease; the kind of laugh that is instinctively childlike and pure. She jumped into a particularly deep puddle, splashing dirt onto her already soaking clothes.

"Emma!" The man called again.

"I'm just playing, dad!"

"You're too close to the road, squirt. Come here!"

Emma jumped one last time in the puddle and, with a giggle, sprinted back to her dad. She skidded to a halt in front of the towering man and grinned toothily up at him. Her cheeks flushed pink with the cold and her red hair dripped with water despite the hood of her coat. Emma reached up and wrapped her gloved hand round the crook of her father's elbow, urging him to skip along with her.

Their feet sent droplets of rain water flying into the air as they trekked through the growing storm. The thunder was getting louder, and faint flashes of lightning could be seen striking in the distance. Slick with rain, the road reflected the forest surrounding the father and daughter. The trees drooped with the weight of the rain, which was beginning to make it difficult for the man to see ahead of him. Luckily, a bus stop offered shelter ahead of the pair, and the man urged his daughter to hurry.

The two scurried into the relative safety of the shelter, huddling into each other to keep warm from the biting cold. Yet, something began to nag at the back of Emma's mind as she and her father stared out into the storm. She wanted to run out of the shelter and back into the rain, to splash and play the way that every child should. And so she did. Edging away from her father, she was pulled back into the rain, her feet scuffing against the soaking ground as she went.

It was an odd sensation that swept over the little girl; almost as if she had no control over her own body. Something compelled her forward, like a string pulling at her stomach and a voice whispering _"move, move, move."_ It was that magnetic voice that dragged her forward, squelching in her boots and her hands freezing cold.

As the man checked his watch – 11:11 am – a black car rounded the corner of the road at an alarming speed. The vehicle swerved into the opposite lane, its tires squealing with the loss of traction.

" _Move, move, move,"_ the voice whispered again, drowning out the speeding car and Emma's father calling her back to him.

The car screeched as it slid on the slippery surface of the road, the driver grappling desperately with the wheel.

The voice abruptly faded from Emma's mind just in time for her to hear the car spin off of the road and straight into the bus shelter she had been standing in moments before.

For as long as Emma lived, she would never be able to forget the blank look on her father's face as he was trapped between the wall of the shelter and the hood of the car; nor would she forget the thin lines of blood that spilled out of the corners of his lips. She certainly wouldn't forget that he did not respond to her touch when she placed her hand over his and pleaded his name, _"dad?"_

No matter how hard little seven-year-old Emma Moore tried to forget, she would always remember the flashing lights of the ambulance and the voices of the fire fighters prying the black car away from her father's body. Though it was a haze, she would always remember Nurse McCall pulling her into an embrace and rocking her soaking body back and forth.

At seven years old, Emma Moore stopped being a child. Her childhood ended sitting in a hospital waiting room surrounded by flickering florescent lights in the middle of a brutal storm.

As nurses and doctors scurried by her, they did not stop to notice the girl with crystal tears staining her cheeks, nor did they notice her silent stare. No one noticed Emma sitting on her hands as they gradually numbed and lost their grip on her innocence. Her eyes had stopped crying but remained open, unblinking at the wall across the hall from her. Emma's little eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she counted the white squares on the wall, wishing that by the time she counted them all that the day would reset and the world would be whole again.

She wished that she could wake up in her bed again and not insist that her father take her to the movies. She wished that she hadn't been tired of watching the same videos over and over again, and that her father hadn't given into her demands when the rain had just started falling. She wished that the rain had not picked up at such an alarming rate, and that her father had continued walking to the movies instead of seeking shelter in a bus stop. She wished that the owner of the black car had not lost control of the wheel and veered off the side of the road and straight into her father. But there were no genies to grant her wishes and she did not have the ability to rewind time. In that moment, Emma ceased being a child.

* * *

January, 2011

When Emma was sixteen, she did not realise that she was close to losing another part of herself. On a deceivingly sunny morning, as she readied herself for school, that event was far away.

On that morning, as her world began to slowly change, she was stirring from her fitful – though short – sleep. Her blue and white striped curtains graciously blocked the sun from entering her bedroom before she was ready to face the day, but an urgent beeping began to filter into her consciousness. With a grunt and a firm slap, the alarm was quickly silenced. Emma retracted her hand and rubbed at her eyes. She threw her arms over her head and stretched her toes, letting out a yawn as she did so, embracing the feeling of her muscles stretching. Rolling out of bed with a sigh, she padded her way across the cream hallway and into the bathroom. She closed the bathroom door behind her and switched on the far too bright light. Squinting in the illuminated bathroom, Emma could finally take in her morning appearance and groaned when she saw the chaos on top of her head. Strands of red hair stuck out at every angle with sections having fallen out of her bun and trailed their way down her back or were framing her face. She turned the tap on and let the cool water splash into the sink and swirl down the drain before washing her freckled face.

Growing up, Emma was always ashamed of the freckles splashed across her skin. She would look at her fresh, clear faced classmates with such envy that she could have sworn she turned a little green. Her abundance of freckles, paired with her flaming red hair, made her a target for ridicule by the crueller children in her class. "Spotty face", "Dalmatian", "Ginger Nut", and "Fire Truck" where the names she would recall most often later in life when she lay awake at two in the morning, with sleep evading her. Such names, and her already low self-esteem, led to a young Emma trying to hide and cover up the very things that made her unique. She grew out her bangs – even though they irritated her eyes – and grew accustomed to pairing a baseball cap with most of her outfits.

When she was a child, she never understood why her mother insisted that her freckles and hair color were beautiful. It was simply incomprehensible to her. She would look at the children in her class, the majority of whom only had a few freckles scattered across their bodies, and viewed them as looking at the night sky with bare eyes. The stars on their skin were evenly spaced apart and barely noticeable. She looked at herself and could only compare her own skin to looking at the stars through a telescope; everything was brought into focus and cramped closer together, each star clambering for attention. Cluttered. Messy.

The red of her hair was another point of contention in her childhood. Her red locks were immediately noticeable in a sea of brown and black and blonde. Lydia Martin was the only other red head in her age group, yet Lydia had deniability. Lydia had the shade of red that Emma used to dream of having; it was the color of the rising sun, a beautiful stretch of gold paving, or a pool of daisies drenched in honey. Lydia could pass for strawberry blonde, Emma could not. Emma always thought of Lydia's hair in a pleasant manner, it _was_ pleasing to look at after all, but she could never regard herself in the same fashion. Emma was a blazing fire, ribbons of scarlet silk, or drops of blood in a bowl of water. She never thought of her hair as being calming like Lydia's.

It wasn't until her father died that the teasing lessened somewhat – even children know when to be respectful – and she slowly began to release some of her self-hatred.

She remembered the day she began to value her freckles clearly. She had sat in a black padded chair in a hairdressing salon while her mother had her hair trimmed. There had been a stack of glossy magazines on the small oak coffee table beside her; the covers of the magazines were filled with beautiful women, smiling at the reader with dazzlingly white teeth and sparkling eyes, with sleek hair that Emma wanted to run her fingers through. She had picked up the magazine on top of the pile and gazed longingly at the blonde, freckle free, woman staring back at her. There was no doubt that the woman was beautiful, her smile seemed to scream "don't you wish you were me?" Emma agreed completely. Though she could only comprehend what a few of the words on the covers meant, it was clear to her that beauty excluded freckles and came in any shade other than red.

It was only when she accidentally sent the pile of magazines careening towards the marble floor that her mind-set began to change. She had stared at the mess she had made with wide eyes, and quickly scrambled from her seat to fix the disaster. When she was cleaning the mess, she found a magazine that she had been ready to dismiss as being like all of the others when she noticed a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. She had stared at the woman occupying the cover of the magazine in awe. Before her was a beautiful woman with bright red hair – and not the Lydia kind of red, but the Emma kind of red – and to top it all off, the model was drenched in wonderful freckles. Emma had never seen a more beautiful woman.

"She looks like me, mommy!" Emma had exclaimed when her mother returned from her haircut.

"Well, would you look at that?" Her mother had smiled as she handed the hairdresser a twenty dollar bill. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Emma, too stunned to answer, could only nod her agreement.

"You can keep it if you want. God knows we've got plenty more," the hairdresser had offered.

Emma didn't think that there could ever be another woman like the one on the magazine, and so she clutched it to her chest and walked out of the salon with more of a spring in her step.

Years later, the magazine still maintained a coveted place in her overflowing bookcase.

Yanking her hair out of its tie, she let out a sharp yelp as strands were pulled from her scalp and groaned once more; she was not a morning person, and that particular morning seemed to be worse than all of the rest. An uncomfortable feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach and her skin tingled with nervous anticipation – what her body was waiting for, she had no idea.

Her morning routine would normally only occupy a short amount of time; however, she had fallen into the awful habit of doing absolutely nothing until she had to rush so that she wasn't late for school. She had made the decision the previous night that that year would be different: she would not procrastinate in the morning, she would pack her school bag the night before and would organise herself so that she would be in a complete state of bliss. That did not happen. So, while she procrastinated dressing and mulled over the strange feeling that was washing over her, she began packing her black leather satchel bag – a birthday present from her mother – with a few notepads, a variety of pens and all of the standard school equipment. When she figured she had wasted enough time, she finally dressed herself and carefully applied a little bit of makeup to make herself look awake. Emma narrowed her eyes at her reflection, annoyed that no matter how much concealer she applied, her dark under-eye circles appeared to be a permanent fixture on her face.

Emma tiptoed from her bedroom towards the kitchen, hoping that she wouldn't wake her mother. Luckily, Emma could hear soft snoring filter out of her mother's bedroom. She knew that her mother had trouble sleeping, brought on by the frequent nightmares she lied about having. Emma could often hear her mother pottering about the house late at night through to the early hours of the morning. It wasn't often that Emma was awake before her mother but when it did happen Emma was extra careful to make as little noise as possible. Her mother, Delia, tried to shield her from her anxiety but Emma could see past her mother's happy charade. Whenever Delia thought that Emma couldn't see her, the mask was dropped and true sadness appeared in the woman's eyes.

Emma's mother and father had started dating when they were fourteen and had decided that they never wanted to spend another day apart and had married when they were only nineteen; they were the closest thing to soul mates that Emma had ever encountered and it was therefore understandable that Delia was completely and utterly wrecked by Mike's untimely death. For months after the car crash that had stripped Mike of his life, Delia could barely function so Sheriff Stilinski had stepped in to help care for Emma. Throughout her entire life, Sherriff Stilinski had been a second father to Emma – he was Mike's closest friend after all – and when the accident had occurred there was no way he could have even thought of letting Delia and Emma Moore fend for themselves. He and his son Stiles had looked after Delia and Emma and helped them get through the worst of their suffering. It was Sherriff Stilinski who had organised Mike's funeral when Delia couldn't cope with the loss.

Before leaving her house, Emma quickly grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl she had disastrously painted when she was six and the lunch her mother had made for her the night before.

As Emma walked to school, a police cruiser drove past her which instantly made her think of the sheriff and his son. The sheriff's son had a rather unusual name which he never told anyone, not even to Emma or to Scott McCall though they used to be best friends, preferring to be called Stiles instead. Stiles Stilinski was an unusual name to say the least, but Emma always thought that it suited the slightly unusual boy. She didn't like thinking about Stiles too much however, given that their friendship hadn't ended on the best of terms.

The void left by Stiles in Emma's life had been filled by Jessica Reynolds. Emma and Jessica had not been friends, nor acknowledged each other's existence, before Emma's father's funeral. But when Jessica had found Emma crying on the school bathroom floor, she had adopted Emma as her newest friend. Jessica had pulled Emma to her feet and looked right into her eyes and smiled; they never said anything as Jessica wiped Emma's tears away. A form of silent communication had passed between the two as they leaned against the sinks and waited for Emma's sobs to pass. Without ever having spoken to Emma, Jessica instinctively knew that she did not like people seeing her cry. And so they stayed in the bathroom in silence, Emma secretly grateful that she wasn't alone and Jessica happy that she had gotten the lonely girl to stop crying. Jessica had grabbed Emma's hand and had rubbed soothing circles into it with her thumb while Emma clung on for dear life. Since that day in mid-October Emma and Jessica – Ems and Jess – had barely spent a day apart and despite a few curious eyebrows being raised at the start of their friendship, they had never thought of each other as anything other than 'best friend'.

Without realising how much time had passed, Emma soon found herself situated outside of her school and began to blend in with the other students gradually making their way up the wide steps and into the school itself or as Jessica liked to call it "a torture chamber of Hell".

"Emma! Hey, wait up!" A shrill voice sounded behind her.

The shouter appeared from behind a mass of people and revealed herself to be short blonde girl whose extremely curly hair bounced as she jogged to catch up to Emma. Jogging wasn't exactly the appropriate way to describe the way the blonde was moving, resembling Bambi walking on ice as she teetered in her blue heels. The heels belonged to Emma's best friend Jessica who was quite obviously the opposite of Emma. While Emma had donned jeans and a t-shirt, Jessica had chosen to wear a dress with a white lacy skirt and sleeveless denim top half, she wore a white cardigan on top of that and had a small blue and gold watch attached to her right wrist. A pair of pearl earrings could be seen through Jessica's masses of curly hair and her denim blue backpack thumped against her back as she made her way to Emma.

"Well hello Mrs Radio Silence. Where have you been for the last week? I was beginning to think you were avoiding me". Jessica pouted but before Emma could so much as think of reminding her that it had only been a day since they last spoke, Jessica had linked her arm through Emma's and was marching them into the school. Emma stifled a laugh as Jessica never even took a breath before continuing. "You will _never_ guess what Ryan said to me! I was _so_ severely irritated and went off on one at him. We got into this massive fight and now we're not speaking. Well we haven't spoken since last night but _still_. Now, you listen to me Emma Moore, I realised that he actually _didn't_ do anything wrong but I'm still annoyed with him so we're not talking to him today. I repeat: _we're_ not talking to him. So that means that _you're_ not talking to him either and the official Ryan Lucas boycott begins _right now._ "

Emma couldn't help but laugh at her friend as she rambled. Jessica and her boyfriend Ryan were constantly fighting but Emma knew that as soon as lunch rolled round Jessica and Ryan would be loved up once more. Noticing Emma's sceptical look on her face, Jessica stopped walking and gave her a stern look, saying:

"I'm _serious_ this time Ems, we are not talking to him".

Emma rolled her eyes but nodded anyway in the hope that that would satisfy her friend. It seemed to do the trick as Jessica flashed a beaming grin and linked their arms together once more. A part of Emma thought that Jessica was only holding onto her so that she wouldn't fall over but she didn't voice this opinion, instead she chose to listen to Jessica moan about the latest episode of some TV show she was watching and how her favourite characters just wouldn't see that they were perfect for one another.

"Jess, hey…um, Jessica? Can we, uh…can we talk?" A sheepish voice sounded from the right of the two girls.

Jessica glanced at the boy who had spoken and frowned before slowly nodding. The boy made to move towards the school but stopped when he noticed that Jessica wasn't following him. His shoulders slumped as he turned nervously to face Jessica. _Poor Ryan,_ Emma thought as she chose to give the two a little privacy by taking a step back and zoning out of their conversation.

Her mind began to wander before her attention was grabbed by two boys talking animatedly at the bottom of the school stairs: Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall. Her mood seemed to worsen inexplicably the more she watched the two boys, particularly when she shifted her gaze to Scott. She had the strangest feeling of overwhelming panic surging through her, and the intense need to warn Scott about something. What that thing was lingered on the tip of her tongue but she was unable to put it into words.

Feeling extremely confused and anxious, Emma returned her attention to Jessica and Ryan who had almost completely forgotten the previous night's argument (judging by the lack of space between their locked lips).

Emma had been best friends with Stiles Stilinski ever since they swapped crayons on their first day of Kindergarten (his blue crayon for her red one) and eventually spent more and more time together in the police station waiting for their fathers to wrap up whatever paperwork they had to finish. The two would sit in the Sheriff's office with their coloring books: Emma trying as hard as she could to stay within the lines while Stiles… it's safe to say that the Sheriff's desk was always a little more _colorful_ after a visit from Stiles. Or they would play 'pretend' and fight each other with their magic powers. However these games would always end quickly as they both always seemed to have a limitless supply of healing potion in their pockets and one would always accuse the other of cheating. Of course they would always have their other best friend – Scott McCall – to resolve these fights. The three had been inseparable when they were younger; if there was ever any trouble, you could expect to find Emma, Scott and Stiles at the centre of it. That had all changed when Emma pushed the boys away.

Emma felt a tap on her shoulder and looked round to find Jessica looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You seriously need to stop zoning out Ems, I've been trying to get your attention for, like, ten minutes," Jessica whined. "Come on, I want to sort my locker out before class".

Jessica reached up to Ryan and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek which made him blush ever so slightly before linking her arm with Emma's once more. Ryan had always been head over heels for Jessica and something as simple as a peck on the cheek could make his day. The two girls left Ryan behind them with a goofy smile on his face and made their way through the double doors and into the school, but not before Emma cast a wary look back at Scott.

Beacon Hills High School was like any other normal high school: rows of lockers lined the hallways, posters encouraging students to embrace their potential cluttered notice boards and students drifted from place to place already back in the school mind-set. There were the occasional bursts of laughter amongst the chattering students, the slamming of locker doors, the scuffing of trainers and the zipping of bags all added to the standard feeling of high school. Emma could smell someone's overuse of cologne mixing with a spritz of hairspray and the cleaning products used to scrub the floors for the arriving students.

"What happened with you and Ryan?" Emma inquired. "I thought we were boycotting him?"

"Nah, neither of us can remember what we were fighting about so, you know, forgive and forget and all that. Besides, his lips are too nice not to kiss," Jessica giggled as Emma sent her a playful glare.

"Didn't need to know that."

"You're just jealous because you're not getting any of this". Jessica winked at Emma and shook her hips before releasing a belting laugh, her anger of a few minutes previous completely forgotten.

"Yeah, that's exactly what it is. I just can't get enough of you Jess".

Jessica stuck her tongue out at Emma and flounced towards her locker, pulling Emma along with her. The friends had lockers beside one another and so were able to continue their conversation before they were interrupted by the tell-tale _click clack_ of high heels. Lydia Martin had just strutted into the school. She flicked her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and wiggled her fingers in greeting at a few of the other students. Lydia was what you could describe as a 'Queen Bee'; she had the brains, the popularity, the looks, the boyfriend, the works. The mere mention of Lydia Martin's name would cause a variety of words to spill out of the other students' mouths: "beautiful", "smart", "gorgeous" with a few mentions of her being a "heinous bitch" thrown in the mix. However, Jessica and Emma were amongst the few who Lydia deemed important enough to speak to, and Emma had long since gotten over her hair envy. As Lydia flounced passed them she waved and greeted them with a "good morning girls", before walking around a corner and disappearing from sight.

The bell signalling that classes were about to begin rang shrilly from above their heads and the two parted ways with promises to save each other a seat at lunch.

As Emma entered her first class of the day, the first thing she noticed was that she was to share it with both Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski. The second thing she noticed was that there were only two seats left available to her, both of which were behind the two boys. Emma never went out of her way to avoid them, but she never went out of her way to engage with them either; and with her current unexplainable worry for Scott, she was rather reluctant to sit near either of them.

Stiles on the other hand had clocked Emma as soon as she entered the room but, as he normally did when Emma was involved, immediately looked away as if he had been stung. When Emma's father had died, Stiles had been there for her and was hurt to say the least when Emma shut him out, and had tried again and again to reason with her, but she had refused to let him in. Emma had been incredibly angry and had turned that anger on Stiles and their friend Scott, though Stiles had admittedly taken the brunt of it. Eventually, Sheriff Stilinski had convinced his son to give his grieving friend some space, and to let her make contact when she was ready. So when Emma walked into his English class and occupied the seat directly behind him, he could only stare straight ahead like a frightened rabbit and rub the back of his neck (which had always been a small habit of his).

Emma was blissfully unaware of Stiles' nervousness around her and smiled at Scott when he turned around in his seat to say hello to her.

"Weird question," Emma began, glad that Scott had chosen to speak to her first, "but are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, are you?" Scott asked, his head tilting to the side in confusion, his brown hair flopping into his eyes.

"Um, oh…eh, yeah?" Emma's lie came out as more of a question than she would have liked, and she was disappointed to note that her panic had not alleviated at all.

"And you, Stiles?" Emma quickly averted attention from herself.

The boy in question jumped as if he had been burned by the sound of Emma's voice, and nearly fell out of his seat as he spun around to face her.

"Swell!" Stiles blurted out the first thing that came to mind and immediately wanted to bang his head against a wall. "I mean, I'm fine! Not swell, cause this isn't the twenties. So I'm fine…just fine…yeah."

Stiles immediately turned away from Emma, his hand jumping up to rub at the back of his neck as he mouthed the word "swell" over and over to himself with growing exasperation.

-X-

By the end of the school day, Emma was both mentally and physically exhausted. She had spent most of the day either staring at Scott or thinking about Scott, so much so that she could barely remember anything that she had been taught during her classes; though she did know that she had a pile of homework waiting for her and was absolutely dreading the prospect of tackling it.

She declined Jessica's offer to study together, using the truthful excuse that she was too tired to be of any help. She also declined Jessica's offer of a ride home, claiming that the walk would do her good.

She had hoped that that would be true, but the walk home led her past the Beacon Hills Preserve and the discomfort in her body grew tenfold at the sight of the towering trees. A part of her wanted to run straight into the forest and figure out what was making her feel so awful, but the much larger part of her was screaming at her that such a thing is how horror movies start and that it would be the most stupid decision she had ever made. She elected to follow the part of her that wanted to put as much distance between her and the forest as possible.

It wasn't until hours later – when she was halfway through writing a plot summary of Act One of Shakespeare's _Othello_ – that her body relaxed suddenly. The moon had long since risen and all at once she felt intensely tired and relaxed, as if whatever had been making her anxious the entire day had suddenly resolved itself. She had the briefest image flash in her mind of Scott stumbling out of the dark woods in a panic, but quickly shook the thought from her head. She was too tired and her imagination was far too active.

Taking the initiative, she decided to make use of her relaxed exhaustion and clambered into bed. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow, and all thoughts of Scott vanished from her mind.

* * *

 **Hey, everyone!**

 **Just to clear some things up, this is a reworking of 'The Voiceless'. I wasn't too happy with the way that the story was going, or with the way it was written, and I had some seriously intense writer's block. So I decided to rewrite the story and post it under a new title that better represents where I intend to take the characters. For anyone who has read 'The Voiceless', you'll probably notice that a lot of this is very similar, but hopefully I've laid the foundations for some very significant changes.**

 **I've created a tumblr account for this fic ( _allthatpurpleprose_ ) and my other fics because I feel like it will be easier to keep you all updated about when the new chapters are available and communicate with you all. I'll be posting previews and stuff like that on there, so please feel free to check it out. **

**I'm feeling happier about the direction this fic is heading in now, so I should be able to update more regularly.**

 **Thanks to everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, any feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 1

**_Blind Spot_**

 ** _Chapter I_**

 _"Memories don't always soften with time; some grow edges like knives." – Barbara Kingslover_

* * *

October, 2002

Emma swung her legs beneath her. Her polished black shoes shone in the sunlight and she wanted to deliberately scuff them. The tree branch she sat on was uncomfortable and dug into the back of her thighs, but she didn't care. Her mother might care about the sap and moss stains that were sure to have marked her dress, but that was another matter for another time. In that moment, all little Emma cared about was swinging her legs and hearing the wind _swoosh, swoosh, swoosh_.

"Emma?" A high pitched voice called to her.

Looking down from her branch, Emma saw the faces of her two best friends staring up at her – both boys were wearing immaculate black suits. Scott had his hand on the trunk of the tree as if he had been about to begin climbing before Stiles called out to her. Stiles, unlike Scott, had taken his tie off and had stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers.

The boys stared at her for a while, as if she were an alien from another world. Their heads were tilted to the side, their eyes wide and unreadable. The downturn of their friend's lips wasn't something they were used to seeing, and the fact that she had climbed _their_ tree without them was worrying.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing," Emma muttered in reply, focusing on the noise of the wind rather than her friends.

 _Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh…_

"You have to be doing something," Stiles scratched the top of his head, sharing a look with Scott.

"Yeah, you can't be doing _nothing_ ," Scott supplied.

"Well I am," Emma stuck out her chin defiantly and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"We're coming up."

"Don't!"

"Why not?" Scott asked, his chocolate colored eyes wide with confusion and a little hurt.

"Because…" Emma trailed off, unable to find a proper excuse that would satisfy the boys.

"Because why?"

"Because…because I said so, Stiles!"

Stiles and Scott seemed to consider her answer for a moment before answering in unison: "Not good enough!"

Within moments, the two boys had clambered up the trunk of the tree and had plopped down on either side of Emma – though not without injury, going by the tear in the knee of Stiles' suit.

The three sat together, their legs swinging, listening to the sombre chatter of the adults bellow them.

Scott puffed on his inhaler heavily.

The sea of adults continued to swell beneath them, on ocean of black and white and condolences. Only Emma's grandmother stood out: a bright blotch of purple in an otherwise monotonous world.

Emma suspected that half of the town had shown up for the funeral. Her hand was a little sore from how many times people had shaken it while offering their condolences. Emma didn't even know what 'condolences' meant but, based on everyone's expression and the tears in their eyes; she guessed it meant that they were sorry her dad had died.

It was weird to watch the way the town came together but still remained so separate. The majority of the sheriff's department huddled together at the bottom of the garden, swapping their own stories about her dad's days in the force. Sheriff Stilinski stood in the centre of them, a glass of scotch in hand, as he regaled some story about his first arrest with Mike.

Emma's extended family sat around Delia, whispering words of comfort and advice. Delia had sat down as soon as they had returned from the graveyard and hadn't moved since.

The rest of the guests milled around, chatting sombrely with one another. Even Mrs Reyes – the local baker who always gave Emma a cookie for free – had made an appearance.

As Emma watched Mrs Reyes talk to Dr Deaton, and Mrs McCall and Mrs Stilinski handing out sandwiches, she noticed a large dog-like figure hiding in the bushes at the bottom of the garden. The figure was much too large to be a normal dog, and it gave off an unusual aura. Emma could practically see the confidence and authority it was exuding.

Comfort washed over Emma as she made eye contact with the dog. It's unusually red eyes stared at her unwaveringly, but it did not startle her. What did startle her was that the dog seemed to tilt its head ever so slightly, as if offering the canine version of a handshake, before it slowly backed into the bushes and disappeared from sight.

Emma thought that her imagination was playing tricks on her.

"I miss my dad," Emma finally broke the relative silence of the tree.

Stiles plucked the black headband that had been holding Emma's hair back and grinned at her as he placed the band onto his own head, "You can share mine."

"Mine too," Scott offered, reaching behind Emma to nudge Stiles.

Stiles flailed for a moment, appearing to be on the verge of falling off of the branch before regaining his balance. Stiles grinned triumphantly at the smile beginning to quirk at the edges of Emma's lips.

The three sat together in their tree as the wake continued bellow them. For a moment, even though grief gnawed at her stomach and the sea of black seemed never ending, Emma thought that things might be okay after all.

Soon, much like the voice that had warned her of the impeding car crash, the dog with the unusual eyes was entirely forgotten.

* * *

January, 2011

If Lydia Martin was the Queen, then Jackson Whitmore was the King. Being the captain of the lacrosse team meant that he had a certain image to uphold, and uphold it he did. He spent more time in the gym or on the lacrosse field than he did anywhere else, and the hard work showed. Jackson was tall and full of lean muscle, and he was not afraid to show it. He had often been accused of wearing shirts a size too small just to show off his figure and, though the accusers were right, he would deny it and say that he just needed to buy a bigger size. Jackson's image was everything. He always woke up three hours earlier than necessary to work out, have the healthiest breakfast he could manage, and style his hair until it looked effortless. If he didn't pick out his outfit the night before, he could spend up to an hour choosing the right thing to wear: deliberating colour choices and textures was hard work for the sixteen-year-old.

Jackson also liked surprises, such as the Porsche his parents gave him for his birthday, but he only liked them when they benefitted him. Emma Moore showing up on his driveway just as he was about to leave for school was _not_ a surprise he liked. Not that he didn't like Emma; _yes_ he thought she was annoying and _yes_ she was too snarky, but he had grudgingly (very, _very_ grudgingly) let her into his inner circle and did in fact consider her a friend. What he didn't like, was letting her into his car. She had the awful habit of touching things, and Jackson always had to scrub his car down afterwards to get rid of the fingerprints.

"Stop that," Jackson seethed as he swatted Emma's hand away from the radio controls.

"Stop what?" Emma asked teasingly as she reached once more for the controls.

"Don't be cute, it doesn't work for you."

"You think I'm cute?" Emma gasped in feigned shock, adopting the tone of a scandalised southern belle. "What on earth would Lydia say?"

"Lydia would – _hey, stop that_!" He smacked her hand away again, but he was too late as Emma had successfully turned the volume of the radio up.

"Do you know how long it's going to take to get that back to the right volume?!"

"Oh take the stick out, Jackson," Emma stuck her tongue out at him childishly and sank back into the plush leather seats of Jackson's car.

"Only when you stop shopping at _Hand-me-down's R Us_."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Emma pulled at the faded grey t-shirt she wore.

"What's _right_ with them?"

 _"_ _Goooood morning, Beacon Hills!"_ The radio blared before Emma could spew the snarky retort that had bubbled in her throat. _"It's a beautiful day today, so let's head over to Maggie Marshall for the news."_

 _"_ _Thanks, Billy. Two joggers found a body last night in Beacon Hills Preserve. Little is known about the victim, though has been identified as a female in her early to mid-twenties. The Sheriff's department is asking for anyone with any information relating to the case to come forward. In other news…"_

Emma turned the volume of the radio down. Jackson didn't stop her. The uneasy feeling that had plagued her the day before was beginning to return with a vengeance. Beacon Hills was a small town; the biggest news in the past ten years had been the Hale house fire, but even that had been an accident. A body being found in the woods was almost unimaginable, especially since the body hadn't been identified in a town where everyone knew everyone.

 _"_ _Aren't you a curious thing?"_ A voice whispered in Emma's ear.

She jumped in fright, spinning round to find the source of the voice, but Jackson's car was just as empty as it had been moments before. Jackson stared straight ahead as if nothing had happened, his fingers still drumming against the wheel. Emma swivelled round to search the backseat, but all she found was Jackson's jacket neatly folded on the middle seat.

"What did you just say?" She asked Jackson.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could've sworn I heard…" her voice trailed off into an insecure mumble.

A chill ran down her spine. She pulled her cardigan tighter round herself as she shivered. She could have sworn that someone had spoken and had felt their breath against her ear as they whispered. Yet nothing was amiss. The trees still stood tall and proud outside of the car, Jackson's cologne was still too strong, the radio was still humming quietly – _the radio, must have been the radio_ , Emma reasoned.

Sooner than Emma would have liked, the high school loomed ahead.

"Out," Jackson ordered oh so politely once he had parked in an empty space.

Without waiting for Emma to follow his order, Jackson swung his door open but it met resistance with an audible thud.

"Dude, watch the paint job," said Jackson to the boy he had hit.

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed her backpack from between her feet as she stepped out from the car. She slammed the door shut behind and scoffed at Jackson's barked _"careful!"_

"It's just a car, Whittemore."

When she glanced up, she realised that it had been Scott that Jackson had hit. Jackson glared at Scott without saying anything, and poor Scott seemed to however in a state of confusion and incredulity.

Scott hadn't changed much since they had been kids. He still had the same floppy hair and wide brown eyes that let him get away with pretty much anything when he played his cards right. Scott had always been the one to get Stiles and Emma out of trouble when they had been friends. Whenever the two had gotten a little carried away and broken something, it was always Scott who would play up the puppy dog eyes and convince whatever adult was present that it had truly been an accident. If Stiles had been left to the task, he and Emma would have been given a bigger punishment for whatever sarcastic comment he made. Scott had always been a saviour of sorts.

Emma remembered that he had always been a kind boy, and always stood up for her no matter what. She remembered when Greenberg had been particularly nasty with his teasing and pulled her hair too hard; it had been impossible to forget the bully's laugh when she had started crying. Yet, she also remembered Scott sprinting across the uneven playground, his limbs gangly and flailing, and stood in between Emma and Greenberg. She didn't remember much else about that day, except for Scott's bloody nose – a _gift_ from Greenberg – and the chocolate chip ice-cream they had shared on the walk home.

"Down boy," Emma patted Jackson's back and smiled guiltily at Scott.

"Whatever," Jackson huffed and, with a click of his keys to lock his car, he stomped away towards the school.

"Sorry about that, Jackson can be…"

"Difficult?"

"Well, I was going to go for 'bit of a jerk', but 'difficult' works too."

Scott and Emma grinned at one another. Being friendly with Scott was easy, even after they stopped being best friends. If Emma was asked to describe Scott in one word, it would have to be: warm. The boy made Emma feel as if she was accepted without having to try. Sometimes she felt as if she had to hide parts of herself around her other friends – Lydia in particular – but Scott made it easy for her to be herself. She sometimes found herself missing the boy. Not that she didn't miss Stiles, because she certainly did, but she often felt guilty around him and knew that she could never take back some of the things she had said and done. She doubted Stiles would ever forgive her even if she could. No matter how much time passed, Stiles continued to be awkward around her and occasionally avoided her entirely. She felt even worse when he did that.

Jessica had told her that _"it's just Twitch being Twitch. He's like that with everyone,"_ but Emma couldn't help but feel that Jessica wasn't being entirely truthful. In fact, from what Emma had seen, though Stiles was a little awkward, he never went out of his way to avoid anyone other than her. Maybe she was being a little paranoid, but she knew deep down that she was right.

"Are you going in?" Emma asked.

Scott nodded once and the two began trudging towards the school, following the same path Jackson had taken.

"Hey! Lacrosse try-outs are today. Do you think you're ready?" Emma asked, noticing the lacrosse stick poking out of Scott's bag.

"I think so. I'm hoping to make the team this year." Scott answered his excitement clear. For as long as Emma could remember, all Scott had ever wanted was to make first line. Yet, the years had passed and Scott had only ever been allowed to grace the bench. She could only remember him ever getting to play in six matches in three years. Yet, Scott went to every practice and every match and was one of the most dedicated members of the team.

"I'm rooting for you. Jess will probably drag me to watch so I'll cheer you on." said Emma, bumping her shoulder into his.

"Scott! Hey, Scott!" Stiles Stilinski's all too familiar voice shouted out as he raced towards the pair. He too had a lacrosse stick jutting out from his backpack, but the bouncing nature of his run made it whack the back of his head with every step. "Scott, wait up!"

Emma braced herself for the moment Stiles noticed her, knowing that he would instantly seize up.

She was proven right in the next moment when Stiles' eyes widened and his hand flew to rub the back of his neck and he muttered "and Emma. Scott _and_ Emma."

"Hey, Stiles." Emma suddenly became fascinated by her shoes in order to avoid looking at Stiles avoiding looking at her. _What a stupid mess_ , she thought.

The three stood in a tight circle in awkward silence. Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, Scott glanced back and forth between the other two, and Emma…well, Emma did everything in her power not to cringe.

"So…did you both do the English homework?" Emma finally broke the tension.

Neither boy answered.

They shared an odd look, as if there was some big secret that only they knew about. Emma shivered and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

Suddenly, the crowd of students parted and Lydia Martin emerged in all her strawberry-blonde-fashionista glory. Emma could have cried in relief.

"I'm gonna…yeah, I'm just gonna go," Emma gestured towards Lydia and all but sprinted towards her friend.

As soon as Emma reached Lydia, she linked their arms together and continued marching at the same fast pace. Lydia was forced into an almost jog, her heeled boots _click-clacking_ like hooves.

"God, you're my saviour. I could kiss you!" Emma sighed in relief.

Lydia, in turn, appraised her up and down slowly. Her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed.

"Hm…I'm flattered, but you're not my type." She flipped her hair over one shoulder and waited for Emma to pull the door to the school open for her.

"What? I'll have you know that I'm a catch."

"Not dressed like that you're not." Lydia settled her with the sort of stare that screamed _'this is why I'm the queen bee and you're not'_ , but Emma was used to it and knew that there were no truly bad intentions behind it. Instead, she was more scandalised by Lydia's statement.

"What's wrong with my clothes!?"

"What's right with them?"

"You've been spending too much time with Jackson."

Lydia looked her up and down once more, and Emma felt almost as self-conscious as she had felt around Stiles. She couldn't really see what was wrong with what she had chosen to wear. _Yes_ , the t-shirt was faded and old, _yes_ her shoes were scuffed, and _yes_ her backpack was beginning to fray at the seams, but she didn't think the outfit was _that_ unseemly. Though compared to Lydia's perfectly ironed blouse, pleated skirt, and polished boots, Emma looked like she'd just rolled out of bed.

"I think it's time we went shopping," Lydia said sweetly, but the underlying threat was real and terrifying. Shopping with Lydia was like battling a tornado with a leaf blower. Sales assistants quaked in fear when she walked in the store. Emma had even witnessed other shoppers moving out of Lydia's way in fear. The whole experience left Emma frazzled for days.

"That _really_ isn't necessary, Lydia," Emma pleaded.

"Well, I think it is," Lydia finished, turned on her heels and left Emma alone outside her first class.

Being friends with Lydia Martin was certainly an experience. She was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, but Emma wouldn't trade her for the world.

She deposited her homework book in the tray on her teacher's desk and headed to her seat, digging out her copy of _Othello_ as she went.

The class slowly started filling up around Emma and Scott and Stiles were the last two to rush in just as the final bell rang. They raced to take their seats directly in front of Emma. She noticed something odd about Scott as he slid into his seat; he winced in pain when his side smacked off the edge of the desk, but it seemed as if he was in serious pain and not just the normal pain from a slight nudge.

"As you all know," Mr Evans began in his wobbly voice that grated on Emma's nerves and had done ever since it had been pointed out to her in the first week, "there indeed was a body found in the woods last night. I'm sure your eager minds are coming up various macabre scenarios as to what happened, but I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody. Which means you can give your undivided attention to today's lesson. Open your books to Act Two, Scene One and begin reading."

Emma tried to focus on the words in front of her, but her mind drifted towards thoughts of the body anyway. It certainly was strange. There hadn't been a murder in Beacon Hills in a very long time; the biggest crime that had occurred in recent memory had been when the local bank was robbed at gunpoint. Unwittingly, her thoughts turned to the voice she had heard in Jackson's car. _"Aren't you a curious thing,"_ she had been sure the voice had said. She could have sworn the voice had been coming from behind her and not from the car radio. _But it had to have been_ , she reasoned, _it couldn't have come from anywhere else_.

She shivered, her spine tingled and the hairs on her arms rose. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Maybe.

As English had never been Emma's favourite subject, she was eternally grateful that the lesson was interrupted for even a short moment by the Vice Principal entering the class and ushering a girl Emma had never seen before into the room. The only way Emma could even think of describing the girl was as a modern day Snow White. With her pale skin and long curling black hair, the new girl looked like the animated character brought to life. The new girl was introduced as Allison Argent who shyly smiled at the staring students before quickly making her way to the only vacant seat left in the room.

Allison sat down in the plastic chair beside Emma and Scott immediately turned around and offered her a pen. She looked at him in in confusion for a moment before taking the pen from his outstretched hand and smiling to herself.

Emma was stolen of the opportunity to introduce herself to the new girl by the teacher beginning his lesson. It wasn't until the end of the school day that Emma and Allison met each other.

* * *

Ryan Lucas, Jessica's boyfriend, was a member of the championship winning lacrosse team along with Jackson Whittemore. As such, Emma was often dragged to watch the lacrosse practices by both Lydia and Jessica. That day, the three girls were joined by Allison Argent, whom Lydia explained was her 'new best friend'.

"Hi Allison, I'm Emma," she waved at the initially shy girl sitting on the bleachers next to her, before pointing to Jessica. "And this is Jessica".

Jessica glanced at Allison, offering her a quick smile, before returning her attention back to the lacrosse field and staring at her boyfriend warming up.

"Oh, hi, you're in my English class right?" Allison asked Emma, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so.

"Yeah, I'm in the seat next to you." There was a short pause between the girls, neither really knowing what to say to each other and both hoping that either Lydia or Jessica would pull them out of the awkward silence.

"So, uh, where did you move from?" Emma really hated small talk but she figured that it was better to get to know Allison than to simply sit in uncomfortable silence.

"San Francisco." Allison offered with a small smile. "We move around a lot for my dad's work".

Lydia tapped Allison's arm to get her attention before gesturing to players on the field.

"Ok, so Jackson's over there," she pointed to her boyfriend with a proud smirk on her face. "That's Danny talking to Greenberg." Before Lydia could continue naming the players, Allison found her attention wandering to the floppy brown haired boy who had given her his pen.

"Who is that?" She asked, gesturing to Scott who was facing away from the girls.

"Him?" Lydia questioned to make sure that Allison was actually referring to the boy who she had never given the time of day to or to one of the more popular boys. "Not sure who he is."

Emma rolled her eyes at Lydia. "He's Scott McCall".

Sometimes Emma couldn't believe that Lydia would think herself so above everyone else that she didn't bother to learn people's names. A small part of Emma knew that Lydia's attitude was just an act and that she really did care about people besides herself and Jackson. However, that small part of Emma was made even smaller by Lydia's following question.

"Why?" Lydia's voice was filled with such disdain at even having to speak about someone who wasn't a part of the popular clique.

"He's in my English class", Allison replied, a bit cautious of Lydia's tone but couldn't help her mind drifting back to wanting to know more about Scott McCall.

As Allison was thinking about getting to know Scott, Emma found herself looking at Stiles Stilinski. He was a member of the lacrosse team, but not an active member; he was, as Jackson Whittemore so _affectionately_ put it 'a bench warmer'. Stiles never took part in the matches but every time Emma watched one of the games she silently hoped that that would be the day that Stiles was allowed to play. So far, he had only ever occupied the bench. Though the two weren't really on speaking terms, Emma always wanted him to do well. He was, after all, still the boy that she had shared a bubble bath with when they were two, and he was certainly still the boy who had hugged her whenever she cried and always offered her his blue crayon.

As Emma watched him, she noticed him exaggeratedly wince and rub his shaved head, and heard the watching crowd wince in sympathy. Looking up in confusion, Emma noticed Scott flat on his back in the goal and clutching at his head.

"What happened?" Emma whispered to Jessica who grimaced.

"McCall got hit on the head with a ball".

Emma grimaced, knowing full well just how sore that could be. Scott recovered quickly and shook the embarrassment off and prepared himself for the next player to attempt to score a goal. This time, Scott managed to catch the ball aimed at him, much to everyone's surprise as it was no secret that he was not good at lacrosse. Even Stiles let out at surprised shout at his best friend's ability to actually catch the ball. Player after player tried to throw the ball past Scott but each time he caught it, not one managing to slip by him. The more throws he caught, the more the excitement in the crowd grew and soon people were cheering for him and his new found abilities.

Emma and Jessica shared a look of pure confused excitement, their mouths hanging slightly open as they turned back to the field to stare at Scott. Jessica managed to catch Ryan's eye who merely shrugged his shoulders, confused just as much as everyone else. Emma could see Stiles bouncing in his seat, barely able to contain his exhilaration.

Emma whispered a quiet "oh no" when she noticed Jackson striding purposefully towards the front of the line of players trying the beat Scott. He pushed Ryan aside with his lacrosse stick and Emma could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. Jackson _did not_ like for anyone to be better than him. Emma and Jessica glanced at each other once again, this time with faces filled with nervous anticipation. They hated to think of what Jackson would do if Scott somehow managed to catch the ball Jackson would throw at him.

Jackson began to run at Scott, cradling the ball in his lacrosse stick, and Emma raised her hand to her temple as if she was going to shield her eyes but she found that she couldn't look away. As Jackson leapt into the air to throw the ball, everything stilled for a moment as if everyone was simultaneously holding their breath.

Then the spectacular happened.

Scott _caught_ the ball.

It was as if an explosion had occurred as everyone who had been sitting jumped to their feet and began cheering. Even Lydia jumped to her feet to cheer for Scott, knowing full well how angry that would make Jackson. Stiles was whooping and hollering in astonishment for his friend.

"Go Scott!" Emma and Jessica screamed while clapping their hands.

Stiles, hearing Emma's voice, whipped his head round to the bleachers to watch her jumping in joy for his best friend and for a moment wished that she was cheering for him. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of her red hair flashing in the sunlight before he realised that Emma was actually speaking to him.

"Stiles!" Emma waved her hand to catch his attention, wondering what he had been staring off into space at. "When did he learn to do that?" She shouted over the noise of the crowd once she had gained his focus.

Stiles simply shrugged his shoulders, a simultaneously bewildered and excited look on his face, as his way of an answer before he quickly turned back to the field to congratulate Scott.

As the crowd began to settle down, Jessica departed, claiming that she was going to speak to Ryan but Emma suspected that 'speak' was in fact code for 'kiss'.

"You're coming to my party Friday night, right?" Emma realised that Lydia was addressing her so she turned to face the other girl whose hand was firmly planted on her hip and her bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. From her tone, Emma knew that Lydia wasn't really asking, but telling.

"Um, yeah…yeah. I should be able to make it."

"Good." Lydia flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and began to walk away from the two remaining girls.

"I'm going to go have a word with Jackson." Lydia called over her shoulder and Emma knew that in this case 'have a word with' was more likely to be code for 'scold' than anything else.

"Are you heading out or staying behind?" Emma asked Allison who was still seated.

"I'm heading out too.'

The two girls made their way to the parking lot, chatting as they went. Emma discovered that Allison had lived in San Francisco for a year before moving to Beacon Hills (which according to her was a long time to stay in one place) while Allison discovered that Emma had never lived anywhere but Beacon Hills. Allison had taken gymnastics for eight years; Emma loved to sing even though she was terrible at it, but not the kind of terrible were she really knows she is good, no, Emma was the kind of terrible that is just plain _terrible_. Despite the fact that the two girls were rather different from one another, Emma found herself warming to Allison; in turn, Allison found herself warming to Emma, despite the fact that she had initially thought that Emma was a bit cold.

As the two girls parted ways, Emma could hear the crowd of students dispersing from the lacrosse field. The day had not been cold, but Emma found that she had not been able to warm up at all. Not since the incident in Jackson's car. She couldn't get the words out of her head: _"aren't you a curious thing…aren't you a curious thing…aren't you a curious thing…"_ She wondered what it meant.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, any feedback is greatly appreciated.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited this story! A big thank you to JackieOh for reviewing and for making some really awesome posters for this story (which can be found on tumblr. at _fanficjackieoh_ )!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 2

" _Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer – both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams." – Bram Stoker, 'Dracula'_

* * *

November, 2002

"Stiles!" Emma hissed. "We're going to get caught!"

"No, we won't!" Stiles protested as he glanced left and right to check that the coast was clear.

"Guys, I really don't think this is a good idea," Scott piped up from where he was playing with the sleeve of his t-shirt in the kitchen doorway.

"Shh! You two talking will get us caught!"

That shut Emma and Scott up as they nervously watched Stiles slink around the kitchen to the prized cookie jar. Stiles was like a spy, stealthily zooming from tile to tile (careful not to step on any cracks) and even attempted a forward roll for extra style points. Scott and Emma smiled at each other as they watched their best friend make much more noise than he thought he was. They knew that the would be caught when Stiles thumped into one of the counters after attempting another roll (no style points) but neither of them cared; Emma hadn't had this much fun since before her dad died, so, even if they didn't get a cookie, it would be worth it.

"Got it!" Stiles raised the cookie jar triumphantly in the air just as Mr Stilinski entered the room, the slippers on his feet allowing him to move silently.

"Got what, son?"

Stiles dropped the jar but managed to catch it just before it could have the chance to smash off the floor. Mr Stilinski frowned, but his eyes twinkled with humour as his son floundered for an excuse as to why he had literally been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Can we have a cookie please?" Emma chanced.

"It's nearly dinner time, Ems."

"Just the one?" From Scott. "Please?" From Stiles.

"Alright, alright," Mr Stilinski laughed. "You can have one each, but don't tell Mrs Stilinski."

"Thank you!" All three cheered at once and Stiles quickly fished out three chocolate chip cookies from the jar.

The three sprinted up to Stiles' bedroom, giggling as they went, when Emma felt something wet trickling from her nose.

After Mr Stilinski had cleaned up Emma's nose bleed and her bloody cookie had been discarded, after they'd all eaten dinner and Scott had gone home, and while they waited for Emma's mom to pick her up, Stiles and Emma sat playing in his bedroom.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand," Stiles instructed.

"It better not be something gross, Stiles," but she did as she was bid nevertheless.

Emma stretched out her hand and waited for whatever Stiles was going to give her. It had been a worm last time and she hoped that it wouldn't be something equally as gross. Eventually, Stiles placed something small, round, and cold in her hand. It smelled sweet.

She opened her eyes, and in her hand sat the cookie Stiles had taken from the jar for himself.

"You bled on yours, so you can have mine."

"We can share," Emma smiled at her best friend as she split the cookie in two. "Thanks, Stiles."

* * *

January, 2011

Emma jolted awake in the middle of a coughing fit, her lungs full of smoke. She threw her covers back and tripped off her bed, landing on all fours before staggering to her feet. Her eyes filled with water as she tried to catch her breath, but her lungs heaved with exhaustion. She barely had time to register that the smoke alarm had not sounded as she felt her way through the darkness of her bedroom and into the hallway.

She tried to call out to her mom, but her voice was trapped in her throat and the only sound she managed to make was a half-choked sob.

Stumbling down the hall towards her mother's bedroom, Emma noticed orange light flickering through the large window next to the stairs. Edging closer to it, her legs tired and her lungs burning, she managed to grab onto the windowsill before her legs gave way beneath her. She inhaled deeply, nearly choking on the thick smoke that filled her lungs as she gripped onto the wall beneath the window to help pull herself up. Her hands were slick with sweat as her blood ran cold at what she saw through the window: Beacon Hills was burning.

The forest was a fiery blaze of sinister reds and oranges as trees crashed to the ground and embers shot into the sky; the faint edge of the moon struggled against the thick smoke to light up the night.

Using the window ledge to help her turn, Emma managed to throw herself towards her mom's bedroom door. Whacking her knee off the door, Emma tumbled into the bedroom to find her mom fast asleep in the centre of her double bed.

"Mo-mom!" Emma croaked, coughing as she dragged herself across the carpeted floor and grabbed onto her mom's arms. "Mom, get up!"

"Emma?" Delia stirred, shifting gently in bed with her eyes still closed. "What's wrong?"

Emma tried to speak, tried to warn her mom that the house was burning down, but the words clogged her throat and the world was beginning to spin around her.

"F-f-fire," she eventually managed to stutter as she grabbed onto her mom's arm and tried to pull the older woman from the bed.

"What are talking about, honey? There's no fire."

Emma stopped. The hand on her mother's arm began to loosen its grip and the smoke obscuring her vision cleared. She breathed deep and long, and the tears that had been building behind her eyes began their journey down her cheeks and into her parted mouth. She could no longer hear her home crumbling or smell the forest burning, but her skin was searing to the touch and she felt like she had been left in the sun for days without any shelter. She needed water.

"Emma? What's wrong?"

"Mom, I swear to God, there's a fire," she couldn't have imagined it.

Someone screamed.

Emma jumped to her feet with all the energy she could muster and sprinted back into the hallway, clutching at the windowsill and searching frantically out the window for the source of the noise. The street outside her house was empty, save for one of the local cats darting from beneath one car to another. The forest was perfectly unsinged and stood just as tall and as powerful as it always had been.

Delia heaved herself out of bed and slipped her slippers onto her feet before padding out to join her daughter.

"What are you looking for?"

"Did you not hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Someone screaming," Emma shot a look at her mother.

Delia stared at her daughter, her eyebrows furrowed in concern and her arms folded across her chest. She couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary, nor could see any fire, nor smell any smoke; the only thing out of the ordinary was the frantic look in Emma's eyes.

"I think you've just had a nightmare, honey," Delia smoothed Emma's hair back from her face and nearly winced at the heat radiating from her daughter's skin. "You're burning up."

"It felt so real."

"You're okay, I've got you," Delia whispered as she pulled Emma into her embrace, but Emma couldn't take her eyes from the window.

She gazed into the night outside, waiting for the sight of a spark or a plume of smoke to confirm that she hadn't been imaging things. Nothing happened. The world continued sleeping, the neighbour's cat went about its mouse-stalking business, and Emma allowed herself to be guided to her mom's bed.

For the first time in years, Emma crawled into her mom's soft bed and calmed to the sounds of her mom's gentle breathing, but neither of the Moore women slept. Instead, they lay in silence and watched the hours tick down on the alarm clock and the sun slowly rising behind the closed curtains. Emma tried to wrap her head around everything that had been happening to her from her anxiety over Scott's well-being, to the voice in Jackson's car, and finally to the fire she had been so sure was real. She had felt the heat from the flames and thought she would die from smoke inhalation only to discover that it had been a nightmare. Something didn't add up; she had never suffered from sleep paralysis, nor had she ever been known to sleepwalk, but suddenly she was fighting for her life in an imagined fire.

* * *

Jessica Reynolds liked pretty things. One of her dads, no one was sure which one, had nicknamed her Little Magpie when they adopted her. When she was a baby, she appeared to collect anything sparkly she could get her tiny hands on and so the name stuck. As Jessica grew up, that remained the same. Jessica seemed naturally drawn to glittering necklaces and sparkling bracelets, pretty dresses and soft cardigans. She loved them all. Of course, she loved them within reason and found that she could love them from a distance if she could not afford them. She worked in a small café to earn money to buy the pretty things she loved as her fathers insisted she learned the value of money.

Her dad, Franklin Reynolds, was a stout car salesman whose suits were always too big and his tie always set at a slight angle. He never wore black suits, claiming that they should be reserved solely for funerals and weddings; in precisely that order since he believed that even wearing black at a wedding was too grim. His light brown, almost blonde, hair was always ruffled no matter how much time he spent styling it into place.

Franklin's husband, Grayson, was the opposite. Jessica's father, Grayson Reynolds, was a serious man, working as a doctor in the local hospital. He enjoyed that his first name sounded like a second name, believing that it gave him a certain gravitas. Grayson appreciated a good black suit, claiming that they suited any occasion (even events that weren't funerals or weddings), much to his husband's annoyance.

Jessica always looked forward to the parties thrown by Lydia Martin as they gave her an excuse to wear the pretty dresses she worked hard to buy. They also meant that she was allowed to play dress up. She adored doing Emma's makeup for the parties they attended, despite knowing that Emma was capable of doing it herself. Jessica would plan at least one day in advance thinking about what she could do with Emma's hair and makeup after she figured herself out. As such she always insisted on knowing what Emma was planning on wearing before the party. All thoughts of what Emma could wear to Lydia's party flew out of the window, however, the second she lay eyes on her best friend shuffling down the school hallway.

"You look like shit," tumbled out of Jessica's mouth before she could stop herself, but it wasn't a lie.

Emma's hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and the bags under her eyes were darker than ever. The patterned yoga pants she was wearing had a small stain on the left ankle and the baggy hoody she wore on top was not much better. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder haphazardly and she looked like she was about to fall asleep where she stood.

"Good morning to you too," Emma said and yanked her locker door open with more force than what was strictly necessary.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Okay…so are we doing the thing where I ask you a question and you lie to me and I pretend that you're telling the truth even though we both know that I know that you're lying?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to answer all of my questions with one word?"

"No."

"Emma!"

"What?" Emma laughed. "That really only needed a one-word answer."

Noticing the pointed look Jessica was shooting her, Emma sighed: "I had a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep, that's all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather talk about how you're going to tell Lydia that I can't go shopping with her for me," Emma deflected.

"You know I love you, Ems, but a Lydia Martin shaped bullet is not one I'm willing to take for you."

"Pretty please?" The two girls laughed as Emma batted her eyelashes in fake flirtation. "I'll do your math homework for a week if you tell her for me."

"No amount of bribery in the world could make me tell Lydia Martin that-"

"Tell Lydia Martin what?"

Like Moses parting the Red Sea and a culmination of every time anyone in the world has said the phrase _'speak of the devil'_ , Lydia emerged from the crowd of students, designer bag slung over her shoulder and Allison at her heels.

"Just…just that I…" Emma glanced frantically around for any excuse to not tell Lydia what she had just been talking about, but when one did not present itself to her she rushed out: "just-that-I-have-training-after-school-and-Coach-will-have-my-head-if-I-don't-show-up-so-I-can't-go-shopping-with-you-before-your-party-tonight."

She waited with nervous anticipation for Lydia to erupt like Mount Vesuvius, for her Wolverine claws to grow from her knuckles, but all she did was tilt her head to the side and smile slowly.

"Hmm," she began, the sound bubbling in her throat, "I guess I won't be able to tell you about what happened between Scott McCall and Allison since you're so busy with other things."

"Lydia!" Allison gasped, her face flushing with embarrassment.

"Wait! What happened?"

But it was too late. Lydia had already spun around in the opposite direction and was walking away while shouting her goodbyes over her shoulder. Emma could practically see the smug look imprinted on Lydia's face.

Emma and Jessica shared a look.

"What happened with you and Scott?" The two rounded on a beetroot red Allison.

"He asked me to go to Lydia's party with him. See you at lunch!" Allison all but sprinted away from the two remaining girls as she chased after Lydia.

"Allison!" Emma called after the retreating girl, but it only served to make her run faster. "She's been here for like _one_ day and someone's already asked her out."

"Don't worry, your time will come," Jessica joked with all the false wisdom she could muster.

"I'm just impressed, that's all. Girl's got skill!"

When lunchtime finally rolled around, and they had secured a table for their group, Emma and Jessica waited with anticipation for Allison's arrival. Ryan, however, was the first to arrive and he slid into the vacant seat beside Jessica.

"Hey, have the police said anything more about that body they found?" Emma asked Ryan, remembering that she had forgotten to talk to Jessica about it the day before.

"Um…I think they're questioning people about it but I don't know if they've charged anyone yet," he answered with a shrug of his shoulders and quickly swallowing a bite of his sandwich. "It's weird but isn't it? Nothing like that ever happens here." He took another bite of his sandwich (which was basically the size of the whole thing) and Emma looked at him, mystified at the amount of food he could fit in his mouth.

"Well, there was the Hale House fire." Fire. Emma shivered as her mind shot back to the intensity of her nightmare.

"Nah," Ryan scoffed as Lydia slid into the seat next to Ryan and Jackson sat across from her. "That was an accident, doesn't count."

"So, what are we talking about?" Lydia asked.

"McCall," Jackson spoke up before any else could say anything. His eyes locked on Emma, "you're still friends with Tweedledum and Tweedledee right?" He said jerking his head in Scott and Stiles' direction.

"Sort of, yeah…why?"

"What's he on?" He asked abruptly.

"What? Who?" Emma asked, thoroughly confused.

" _McCall,_ " Jackson gritted his teeth and moved his gaze back to glare at Scott's head. "He has to be on something. There's _no way_ he got that good at lacrosse that quickly."

Emma could hear Lydia huff in annoyance beside her, clearly Jackson had been bothering her about it all day.

"Here's a _wild_ idea: maybe he just practised a lot. You know, that thing people to do to get better at something." Emma fired back.

"Whatever," Jackson growled, returning his stare back to Scott. "I _know_ he's on something. I just need to find out what".

"You can't be serious, Jackson. This is Scott McCall: little puppy dog, wouldn't hurt a fly, Scott McCall we're talking about." Emma gave him a pointed look, conveying that she thought he was being ridiculous.

"Listen, Moore," Jackson hissed, never taking his eyes off of Scott. "I know what I'm talking about, I just need to wait for him to slip up and then expose him for the cheater he is."

Emma bit her tongue, realising that arguing with him was just going to give her a sore head. Jackson was one of the most stubborn people she had ever met, and it was something she both admired and detested about him.

"Okay," Ryan nervously laughed, trying to diffuse some of the tension that had settled on the table. "Are you coming to lacrosse practise?" He asked Jessica and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Of course," she confirmed with a quick kiss on his cheek.

"So, Allison," Emma jumped in before anyone could start any other discussion. "What happened with you and Scott?"

Before Allison could answer, however, Jackson nearly spat out the gulp of water he had been about to drink and his eyes practically bulged out of his head. He swallowed quickly, staring intently at Allison.

"Scott McCall? Or Scott Nelson?" Jackson seethed forcing the alleviated tension to descend once more upon the table.

"McCall," Allison answered, and Emma was pleasantly surprised to find a look of steely determination plastered over her face; Emma realised that she had grossly misjudged Allison, she was not as shy as Emma thought she was.

"You can't be seri-" but before he could finish his sentence, he was silenced by a flick of Lydia's hand as she interrupted him and defused the situation before he could erupt.

"Jackson!" She gave him a pointed look. "Do you know what you're going to wear?" She addressed Allison who smiled at her, glad that the conversation wasn't headed into an argument.

* * *

"Hey, Stiles."

The combination of the shrill sounding of the coach's whistle and Emma's sudden appearance at his elbow made the already panicked boy jump in fright.

"Emma! What are you…you're here?" He managed to stumble out, his mind half on the girl before him and her mesmerising red hair, and the other half on his best friend huddled with the rest of the team around Coach Flinstock.

"Well observed," Emma laughed as she began to stretch.

Stiles gulped as Emma dropped into a lunge while smiling up at him. The sunlight caught her hair in just the right way and he felt the muscles in his stomach contract.

"I mean, what are you doing here?"

"Hopefully making captain this year," she answered.

"Captain? You don't play lacrosse."

"You know Stiles, you should really join the FBI with those great powers of observation," her laugh tinkled in the air as she moved to stretch her other leg. "I'm up for captain of the athletics team. You know, the sport I've been doing since we were ten."

 _You stopped being my friend by the time we were ten_ , the thought came unbidden to Stiles' mind but he, uncharacteristically, managed to stop himself from saying the words.

"Stilinski! Moore!" Coach Flinstock shouted. "I don't pay you to stand around flirting all day!"

Both Emma and Stiles flushed scarlet but, while Stiles' mouth gaped open like a fish, Emma managed to shout back, "You don't pay us at all, Coach!"

"Are you giving me lip, Moore?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Coach," Emma smirked as she joined the mix of the lacrosse and athletics teams, wedging herself between Jackson and Greenberg.

"Okay, you know how this goes," Coach began addressing the lacrosse team, "if you don't make the cut, you're most likely sitting on the bench for the rest of the season. You make the cut, you play! Your parents are proud! Your girlfriend loves ya! Everything else is cream cheese."

"Cream cheese?" Emma mouthed to Jackson, who only raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder.

"Now get out there and show me what you got! Come on!" Coach Flinstock concluded what he believed was a rousing and inspiring speech as the lacrosse team roared with him.

The ten members of the athletics team all shared a look that said the same thing: _are they being serious right now?_ The lacrosse team had dispersed in a series of testosterone-induced roars and hoots as they all began sprinting to their starting positions.

"Um, Coach?" One of the athletics boys timidly raised his hand. "What do you want us to do?"

"Dunno. Don't really care," the Coach never took his eyes off his players. "Go run laps or something."

With the athletics team as _inspired_ and _riled up_ as the lacrosse team, they headed to the track.

"I can't wait for Coach Lindsay to come back from maternity leave," Sophia Baxter muttered as she finished her stretches.

"Seriously? Lindsay is just as bad as Flinstock," Devon Andrews argued back.

"Who cares about that? Are we all going to Lydia's tonight? And, more importantly, where are we going first?"

As the chat descended into plan making for the night ahead, out of the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Scott McCall flipping over another player's back.

"Did…did you all see that?" Emma gasped, shocked by Scott's new-found abilities.

"I think McCall's on something," Devon suggested, his wide eyes conveying his shock. "No one gets that good that quickly."

"You're not the first person to say that today," Emma laughed with a roll of her eyes.

"Look, Em, I know you used to be friends with him, but McCall and Stilinski are weird," Devon answered to the agreed muttering of the rest of the team.

"Okay," Emma consented when Scott made another almost impossible shot, "but they're harmless."

As Emma finished and the team broke up to go about their individual training, she noticed something unusual. Stiles, arguably Scott's biggest supporter, was watching the field worriedly. The rest of the crowd was on their feet cheering Scott on as he continuously beat everyone's expectations, yet Stiles remained firmly sat down with his eyebrows furrowed in apprehension.

With a little liquid courage, Emma thought that she might just be able to ask him about it at Lydia's party.

* * *

"Hi, mom!" Emma shouted when she returned home from school.

"In here!" Delia shouted back, and Emma followed the sound of her voice into the kitchen.

Sometimes Delia wished that Emma was still that little girl who would hold her hand to cross the road and would get in flour fights with her when they made cookies.

"How was school?" Delia asked as she pulled away from the hug she had given Emma.

"Fine, the usual. Jackson Whittemore's convinced Scott McCall's on steroids or something because he's suddenly gotten good at lacrosse," Emma rolled her eyes while her mother furrowed her brows.

"Little Scott McCall? The one you used to be friends with?" When Emma nodded her head in response Delia laughed, something Emma barely heard anymore but thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. "That's just ridiculous," Delia continued. "I highly doubt little Scott would do that."

"That's what I said, but Jackson's like a dog with a bone. It'll probably take him a while to get over it."

"You've got a party tonight right?" Delia deftly changed the topic as she moved to rinse her coffee mug out in the sink.

"Yep! What time do you want me back for?"

"What time do you think it'll end? What about one o'clock?"

"One sounds good, but I think it'll probably end before that," Emma knew that this wasn't true and that Lydia's parties always stretched into the early hours of the morning but she wanted an excuse to leave early if she felt like it.

"Well, come home when you want just not after one. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay then, off you go. Oh! Remember to eat something before you go, if you're going to be drinking you don't want to be sick."

"Yeah, will do," Emma smiled at her mom.

As Emma turned to leave the kitchen she heard her mother speak again, "I love you, Ems." Emma stopped in her tracks. Delia hadn't called her Ems in years.

"I love you too, mom."

Before Emma knew how much time had passed, she found herself wandering around Lydia's crowded house, three shots of tequila and two vodka cokes deep. Music blared from the speakers beside the pool and people were already stumbling about, the alcohol going straight to their heads. Off key signing could be heard streaming from the living room, accompanied by a boy playing an old guitar and trying to get the crowd back in tune.

Emma walked through the hallway of Lydia's house, a red solo cup in one hand, as she searched for one of her friends. She exchanged pleasantries with a few people as she passed, but she never stopped for long. Jessica had left her when she had spotted Ryan, and Emma was left to wander around and avoid Greenberg's unwanted advances (not that she would ever admit it, but her drunk brain had already made her tell Jackson that Greenberg was cute twice, and she only ever found Greenberg attractive after she'd drank a sufficient amount). She spotted Danny in the kitchen pouring himself a drink, so she made her way through the throngs of teenagers and hugged his waist from behind.

"Hey Danny boy," she giggled, and Danny smiled at her over his shoulder quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You. Me. Shots. Now." He pulled away from her embrace and, grabbing her hand, led her towards the kitchen countertop where there were at least five bottles of vodka lined up.

Emma giggled as Danny clinked his shot glass with hers before they both downed the drink. The liquid burned her tongue as it slipped down her throat. She scrunched up her face at the horrible taste but the minute Danny filled up her shot glass again and handed it to her, she completely forgot about how horrible it tasted. She downed the shot again and giggled as she nearly tripped up even though she was standing still. Danny grinned at her and poured their third shot. They quickly finished that and Emma could barely feel the burn of it. She grabbed Danny's hand and stumbled out of the kitchen with him in tow.

"We're dancing!" She shouted over the music as the two exited the house.

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Danny laughed and spun Emma around.

The two began twirling around each other, shouting the lyrics to the song playing in each other's faces and waving their arms in the air. The two had a dance routine they only ever whipped out once they were sufficiently drunk and the right song came on – it was an embarrassing routine born in the middle of a dull PE lesson. Their eyes widened at each other and grins split across their faces as _Born This Way_ blared out of the speakers. They roared with laughter as they spun each other around and jumped in the air, laughing harder when Emma tripped and nearly sent a couple flying into the pool.

The two linked arms and stumbled away from the glaring couple. They made their way back to the kitchen and downed two more shots. Emma didn't want to admit to herself just how drunk she had become and just how quickly, she did not want Danny to start calling her a lightweight.

"So, _Miss_ Moore," Danny rushed out, leaning down so that he was eye level with Emma.

"Yes, _Mr_ Mahealani." She leaned towards him and winked.

"Who've you got your eye on?" He asked in what was supposed to be a whisper.

"What? None. _No_ one," Emma tried to lie but failed as her voice hitched.

" _Sure_ 'bout that?" Danny wiggled his eyebrows at her and winked.

"What 'bout you?" Emma slurred, trying to change the subject.

"Don't try…don't try to change the subject." He wrapped his arm around Emma's shoulder and turned her around to face the doorway where Stiles was standing chatting to a boy from their English class. "What 'bout 'linski?"

Emma could feel her cheeks heat up and buried her face in Danny's chest, partly to hide her blush and partly to stop herself from falling over.

"Go talk to him," Danny commanded playfully and bumped her hip with his.

"One more shot, for…uh," she struggled to think of the word. "Oh, courage! One more for courage!"

Danny grinned at her and proceeded to pour them another shot, getting more vodka on the countertop than in the glasses. Emma turned the faucet on after finishing the shot and stuck her mouth under the running water, taking a large gulp. She knew that she was drinking water too late in the game to stop a hangover but she figured that she might as well try.

"You're stalling," Danny frowned at her but laughed when she gave him her 'puppy dog' eyes. "Go!" He laughed again and gave her a slight shove in Stiles' direction.

Emma sent Danny a half-hearted glare over her shoulder but he only waved his hand at her and turned to begin chatting up a cute boy from his chemistry class. Emma spun back around and noticed that Stiles was by himself in the doorway so, taking a deep breath, Emma tried to steady herself as she danced her way towards him. She hugged him from behind and felt him startle slightly before he relaxed minutely, realising who was hugging him.

"Hey stranger," Emma giggled and moved around him so that she was facing him.

"Hey Emma, good party huh?" Stiles desperately tried to look at Emma's face and not at the cleavage peeking out of the top of her dress.

"You weren't invited," Emma stated, struggling to keep a straight face as Stiles floundered trying to think of a response.

"Oh, um…I uh…well you see. See the thing is…" Stiles stumbled over his words and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Stiles!" Emma laughed, placing her hands on his shoulders which were more muscular than she had imagined them to be and for a moment forgot what she had wanted to say. "I'm messin' with you." She giggled and, this time, Stiles laughed with her.

"How've you been? I haven't spoken to you in ages," Emma whined as she grabbed his hand and led him to a quieter area.

"We were talking today," Stiles pointed out.

"We were talking, but we weren't _talking_ if you get what I mean. We're okay though, right? You and me?" She asked him as she reached her intended destination: the staircase.

"Um, yeah. What do you mean?" Stiles asked as he sat down, gulping when Emma stood between his legs and gazed down at him.

"I don't know. I just feel like we've been a little distant lately. Do you know what I mean?"

Stiles stared into Emma's eyes and marvelled at the mixture of colours in them; for a moment he thought that they looked like the sky moments before a thunderstorm and couldn't stop himself from smiling slightly before he remembered that she was waiting on an answer. He missed her.

"I've just been a bit busy lately," Stiles nodded his head, only telling her a small part of the unbelievable, messed up, truth.

"Sorry," Emma stared at her feet, avoiding looking at Stiles. "I guess I'm just being a bit silly." She rubbed her hand across her forehead and let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"Hey, hey, no you've not." Stiles grabbed her hand.

Emma immediately looked up and caught him looking right at her. Usually, when they caught each other staring, they would quickly look away and then shyly look back. This time, however, an effect of copious amounts of alcohol and false courage, they stayed staring at each other.

Neither of them noticed the music playing in the background or the sound of teenagers counting to three as they took their shots. They didn't notice the couple kissing behind them or the two girls that had just exited the downstairs bathroom, sloppy grins on their faces. What they did notice, was that Stiles was still holding Emma's hand in his, that Emma's free hand was delicately placed on Stiles' shoulder and that neither had looked away yet. Emma couldn't help but notice the way that Stiles' hazel eyes seemed to glow golden in the dim lighting and that she could barely make out the small splattering of moles across his face. Stiles noticed that Emma gripped his hand a little tighter, intertwining her fingers with his, her body unconsciously leaning into his. The hand on his shoulder made a shiver run up his spine. As they stared at each other, their breathing became slightly heavier and a flash of nervousness crossed both of their faces. Stiles leaned closer to Emma, so close that he could make out a large freckle – the shape of a heart – just below her right ear. The air was charged with electricity neither had felt before, it made their breathing shallow as they gazed at each other in anticipation.

They both leaned into each other, their faces inches apart when Stiles remembered seeing Emma stumbling as she walked and danced with Danny. He remembered hearing her slurring her words. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't want their first kiss to be because she was drunk.

He pulled back slightly, and Emma looked at him in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. Stiles hated to see hurt quickly flash in her eyes, but he knew that he had made the right decision. If he was going to kiss Emma Moore, one of his childhood best friends, he wanted it to be right.

"Emma, I…" Stiles was interrupted by Scott McCall sprinting passed them breathing heavily and hunched over as if he was in pain.

Stiles groaned, knowing that he was going to have to run after his best friend.

"Listen, Emma, I've got to go," his voice was pleading for her to understand that he wasn't just running away from her.

"Oh, um, o-okay." Emma bit her lip and nodded her head, moving away from him and refusing to look into his eyes.

"Emma, I'm so sorry, I've really got to go," Stiles gave her one last lingering look before he chased after Scott, leaving her alone on the stairs.

Emma sank into the spot Stiles had just vacated. She wondered if she had done something wrong, had read the signs wrong. She had thought that he wanted to kiss her too.

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and lifted her head from her hands, hoping that Stiles had returned. Instead, she found a very drunk Danny sitting next to her and an angry Jackson – with his arms crossed over his chest – in front of her.

"You okay?" Danny asked her, squeezing her arm lightly. "We saw what happened."

Before she could answer him, Jackson remarked, "You can do much better than Stilinski, Moore." He spat out Stiles' name. Jackson Whittemore was a conceited and selfish boy, but he was incredibly loyal to his friends. Even though he and Emma Moore fought like cat and dog, he still considered her one of his few true friends and he did not like seeing his friends upset.

"I don't know, did I do something wrong?" She glanced at Danny, seeing him already shaking his head at her.

"No, trust me, you did everything right," he was about to continue when Jackson interrupted him.

"Yeah, it's Stilinski that's the one with the problem." The way he spoke made it seem like it was physically painful for him to say Stiles' name.

Emma smirked at Jackson and refused Danny's offer of another drink. She knew that she wasn't, but she felt suddenly sober. She wanted to go home and curl up in her bed and sleep for as long as she needed. When she told the two boys as much, Danny protested slightly, saying that it was too early for her to go home but when he saw the look on her face, he stopped talking. The two boys shared a look as Emma staggered to her feet and began to walk away from them, waving goodbye to them over her shoulder.

She looked around for Jessica, wanting to say goodbye to her before she left but when she couldn't find her, she sent her a quick text letting her know she was going home. Emma knew that the text was horribly misspelt but couldn't bring herself to care.

When she left Lydia's house, the fresh air felt like a relief. It helped to clear her head slightly and she felt herself relax. As she stood in Lydia's driveway she groaned when she realised that she had no way of getting home. She stuck her hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out her mobile to call a cab when she heard her name being shouted.

"Emma!"

She looked up to see Allison waving at her and standing next to a much older man. If Emma hadn't been so drunk, she would have been able to register the sharp pain that pierced her arm when she look at him. His green eyes bore into hers and Emma felt herself shrink into herself as if she were a small animal cowering away from a predator.

"Hey, Allison, is everything okay?" She asked, glancing at the man and using the tone of voice that all women instinctively recognise.

"Yeah, well not really," Allison admitted with a sigh. "Scott and I were dancing and then I don't really know what happened, we were about to kiss and he just freaked and ran off. I ran after him, but he was already gone by the time I got outside." She finished, a mixture of sadness and confusion gracing her face.

"That's not like Scott," Emma frowned.

"Yeah," Allison sighed, and Emma could see the man's jaw tighten as if he was impatient with having to listen to the girls talk. "Are you heading home?"

"Yeah, do you want to get a cab with me?" Emma gave Allison the option, not liking the feeling she was getting from the man looming behind her.

"No, Scott's friend is going to give me a ride home," she nodded her head before she looked at the man Emma doubted was really Scott's friend.

Emma stumbled forward, pretending to be drunker than she was and grabbed onto Allison in a hug.

"I don't know who that is, but _trust me_ , he is not one of Scott's friends," Emma whispered in Allison's ear and noticed the man stiffen as if he had heard her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Allison, don't get in a car with him."

Emma pulled back alright, but the two girls kept their arms wrapped around each other. A look passed between them that showed mutual support and the offer of protection. Allison nodded her head ever so slightly.

"Um, sorry Derek, but I think Emma's a little too drunk, so I'll have to take her home," Allison pretended to steady Emma, who wrapped her arm around the other girl's shoulder in solidarity.

Derek seemed to bristle, and Emma felt her blood run cold at the look in his eyes. He huffed, muttering out a "whatever" as he walked to his car. The girls stood watching him as he drove away.

"I think you dodged a bullet there," Emma laughed to ease off the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

"Dammit!" Allison suddenly exclaimed.

"What is it?"

"I was in his car when I saw you coming out of Lydia's and I was going to offer you a ride, but I've left my jacket in his car," Allison pouted. "That was a really nice jacket."

"We'll get you a new one," Emma laughed, already calling a cab, all thoughts on the grilled cheese she was going to make for herself when she got home.

* * *

 **Hi, everyone! I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited, and reviewed this story. I have been absolutely swamped with uni work so I've barely had anytime to do anything else.**

 **Sorry for the very long delay, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


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